


is it running in our blood

by x (ordinary)



Series: savages fit for a wasteland [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Burnplay, Burns, Cigarettes, F/M, Masochism, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rough Kissing, Roughness, Sadism, but they like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicia's a little bit entranced by cigarettes.</p><p>Hancock can work with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	is it running in our blood

**Author's Note:**

> for a prompt on the FKM!
> 
> note: i use [lore friendly ghoul eyes](www.nexusmods.com/fallout4/mods/209/) for hancock

He didn't notice at first, in that private eye's office, beneath a fluorescent bulb and the whole thing all atmosphere and style. Not that Hanock could fault the guy; he pulled the whole detective thing off, and well. Felicia thought so too, with the way she watched him like a mongrel did its prey (For the better. It meant he wasn't a threat. His girl only fucked equals, not toys.) 

But then, it wasn't really  _him_ that she was watching, was it? Hancock squinted, tracing Felicia's line of sight, until--

Oh, he thought, a wicked grin curving his ghoulish face. He could work with  _that_.

* * *

 

With a cigarette in hand and reclined in a Rexford couch, Hancock lit up his third cigarette, taking a lazy drag, letting smoke plume around him in a haze. Felicia stood towards the front door, negotiating with a guy. She was definitely the type of girl that didn't commit to anything without knowing the full story, or at least a little more than what most people give her before they tried to send her on a wild goose chase.

Hancock leaned back against the worn cushions to watch the show, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Hey, what the hell, right? What's the point of being the mayor if you couldn't do whatever you want?

Felicia caught his eye from across the room, and her gaze  _lingered_ , flicking down just a hair before she turned back to playing savior for his sake. Kind of a power trip, that, knowing that someone with violence in her veins and feral in her heart would be a  _good guy_. For him.

Finished up with her deal, Felicia turned away from the drifter, her face immediately dropping, shifting from friendly to cool and a little bit pinched. She flopped onto the couch with him, way back in the corner. A little bit of redecorating, as it were, so she could people watch in her off-time. Curling up against him, Felicia pressed her cheek to his shoulder in sullen silence, wrapping an arm possessively around his waist.

"Tough gig?" he asked, not bothering to hold back the amusement in his voice. 

Felicia jabbed two fingers into his ribs, too hard. " _No._  Just far away, and _another_ fucking bug infestation. This day and age really needs some fucking exterminators that  _aren't me._ " She nuzzled against his neck, breathing in the acrid smoke still lingering on his skin, wistful. Pining. "The  _pay's_ not even that good. I hope you appreciate what I do for you."

"Always do, babe. Always do." He wound rough fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head, the warmth of his skin beyond searing.

Oh, the things his touch could awaken in her, every one a hint at what would come, if she was good. Felicia closed her eyes, body thrumming with the phantom pain to come.

"So," she said, her voice an almost purr, "When'd  _you_ take up smoking?" The lines of her shoulders slowly relaxed with every passing second, already halfway to boneless with the pleasure of his company. He could wind her up, but more often than not, he wound her down, like putting a deathclaw to rest.

Hancock rasped a laugh before taking another pull. "Oh man,  _way_ before you popped out of the freezer, Leesha. You just haven't seen me do it because there's better shit to smoke, snort, and inject most of the time." His fingers rubbed against the crook of her elbow, caressing the trackmarks from the Med-X.

She narrowed her eyes, looking up at him with suspicion. "That doesn't explain why you're doing it  _now_." Not that she minded, really. Meeting Nick Valentine had reintroduced her to her fondness for smoking; less participant and more observer. The gears slowly started to click into place, and Felicia nearly swore. "Oh, tell me you aren't--"

"Jealous?" he asked, shaking his head. "No. But _something_ tells me that you  _do_ like what you see." Hancock flicked the cigarette, ash still blooming orange drifting to the ground, and Felicia's mouth went a little bit dry. How did she end up with such a catch, someone so attuned to her innermost mechanisms, able to gently caress the gears of her empty heart.

She licked her lips, and slid her hand down the front of his coat, nails dragging against the fabric. "I got us a room, before that guy ambushed me with his pity party." 

"Say no more, sister." Hancock dropped his light, rubbing it out with the heel of his boot. "Lead the way."

* * *

The chaos started before they even made it the room.

Felicia slammed him up against a wall hard enough for a poster frame to drop, kissing him with teeth and little else, worrying at his lower lip until he bled. A little bit of that familiar radiation crackled on her tongue, a reminder of all that he was and all that she could be. Hancock dug into her hips and  _lifted_ , slamming her against the doorjamb to someone  _else's_ open room. Her head cracked against the frame, sparks flying behind her eyelid, a whimper of pain slipping from her lips in a prayer, greedy for more.

She wrapped her legs around him, squeezing tight, lips curved into a wild jack-o-lantern grin. "Come on, John," she purred, dragging nails viciously down his cheek, and a lesser man (and, perhaps, even a lesser ghoul) would have flinched away. But Hancock smiled just as wicked, and carried her to their soon to be den of sin. He kicked the door shut behind him, hard enough to send  _another_  photograph tumbling to the ground, toppling off the desk alongside a vase. They both ignored its shattered pieces.

Hancock kissed her, once, tenderly at the hollow of her still-bruised throat, so incredibly addicted to the taste of her skin, the snarl on her lips, the sweet release of her pain and all it entailed-- and then he threw her onto the bed. Felicia hissed in paint as her neck and back slammed against the wall, and she could feel the sprain taking shape in her wrist.

"Fucking  _hell_ , Hancock," she panted, already tugging off her outer layers, coats and gloves and shirt, flinging them to the ground carelessly.

He leaned back on his heels, taking off his hat and nothing else, watching her with pupils blown behind his cataract eyes. Hancock tore his eyes away to fetch Felicia's coat, rifling around in the pockets. "You want anything for it?" he asked, easy as you please, shaking a needle of Med-X. She shook her head, and whined her impatience. "I want. To _feel it_." Her whole body coiled, ready to jump if he didn't move _right that second_.

Hancock had no doubt that she would.

Settling onto the foot of the bed, Hancock lazily pulled out his lighter. It was one of those gold flip ones that they'd acquired in their many travels. He tested it a few times, letting it spark twice before the flame took hold, catching Felicia's hypnotized gaze. "That," he said, smug, "is how you looked at Valentine's hand. Couldn't figure it out for a while, honestly." Hancock pulled out two packs of cigarettes, more for show than anything else, setting them on the mattress. "Maybe I  _was_ a little jealous, before it clicked." He tapped one closed pack against the wooden bedframe, not that it mattered. Cigarettes untouched for two hundred years were gonna be stale no matter what. "But now? I'm just thankful."

That sweet orange light lit up the end of his cigarette, paper crinkling and burning, and Felicia sucked in a sharp breath. There was a promise in every one of Hancock's motions, slow and deliberate. He was not  _smoking_ for the pleasure of it, at least not his own. It was for _her_ , an apocalypse crafted with love and affection. 

Hancock watched her shiver. "Better be sure this is what you want," he said lightly, "because I'm not going to stop once we start." She opened her mouth to confess her eagerness, and in that moment, he pressed that small circle of burning heat into the hollow of her hipbone, twisting it carelessly. It _sizzled_  briefly against her skin, and Felicia  _screamed_ , thrashing in pain, back arching off the bed in a taut bow. Tears sprung from her eyes, wide open and rolled halfway into the back of her head. She'd been shot with lasers and plasma, lit up with shotgun shells and bullets, but this was a  _personal_ hurt, without armor and without chems, delivered unto her with devotion and the kind of callous cruelty that she loved so much. Hancock knew her so well.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He laughed, lighting another one to take a drag on as she recovered, caressing the insides of her thigh with scarred fingers, sliding up to press against her swiftly dampening panties. "Clearly not, if you're so eager for it." He bit down on the cigarette so he could shove her down against the bed, fist planted between her bare breasts. "Now, hold still." Hancock pressed his thumb to the wound, pink and raw, and Felicia wept all over again, loud enough to be heard through half of Goodneighbor. Her brain felt liquid, as if it might slip out of her skull through her eyes and ears, nerves aflame from pain. Her body convulsed involuntarily, and it hurt so  _good_ , in just the way she needed.

Hancock pulled his hand away to grab the cigarette from between his teeth, gaze roving over her body, covetous and appreciative of all the new scars written into her skin with his hand. Bitemarks along her side, a slash from a knife striped across her rib cage, rope burns permanently etched into her wrists. This was their story, inked in blood welled up and poison in their veins. She would have him forever.

He pressed the cigarette below the hollow of her throat, a collar and dogtag without all the fuss, free hand coming down to cover her mouth and hold her head still, even as her eyes rolled like a wild radstag's in a frenzy, the acrid scent of cigarette smoke all around them. Felicia's hands came up to claw at his arm, shoving him-- and by extension, the lit cigarette-- away with incredible force. She heaved with tears still falling down her face, harshly exhaling with shaky little gasps. Felicia clawed at the area just around the new burn, nails digging into her skin to try and draw the pain elsewhere.

She could have Med-X, if she wanted it, to dull the pain all around the edges. It was a staple of her battle routine, a hit of Psychojet coupled with a needle of Med-X, and with it Felicia became invincible, a force of nature capable of slaying anything in her path, from deathclaw to behemoth. The wasteland was her playground.

But now, not even bound to the bed, Felicia let a man reduce her to mindless static and euphoria achieved through pain. Hancock didn't wait for her to say she was fine, and instead fisted a hand into her hair and yanked her onto the floor as if she were a doll, sending her sprawling. She tried to crawl away, snarling and halfway to feral herself. 

"Ah ah ah, sweetheart. We're not done yet." Hancock pressed his boot down onto her bare back, holding her in place, knowing full well that it'd press her hip burn into the gritty wood. She  _howled_ , clawing at the floor, trying to squirm her way out from under him, failing at every turn. Felicia heard him light up for a third time, whining high in the back of her throat, entire body shaking from anticipation. "And I have, honestly, the  _best_ idea. You really are going to appreciate my genius later, I promise."

He sat on the backs of her thighs, and once more gripped Felicia's hair to press her face to the ground.  And then, with the sweet agony of anticipation pressed the last cigarette to the right cheek of her ass, holding it there securely, longer than the others. "Gotta hold still, babe, or it won't set right."

She wept, then, in vast and gasping sobs, inconsolable as the heat did its damage, crackling against her skin and burning away layers of skin that would never recover. Hancock gifted her with evidence of his love, reminders that would never erode entirely, and-- essentially untouched-- she came with a final cry, timed perfectly with a sharp slap to her newly branded ass.

Felicia whited out entirely, surrendering to rare oblivion, body going limp from exhaustion. 

* * *

 

She woke with Hancock absent, but tucked into a scrounged, ratty blanket reserved just for her. She touched her new scars, one by one, finding them slick with ointment. On the bedside table was a stimpack, and Felicia thought the gesture was sweet, even if it would go unused.

Hancock was probably waiting for her, down at the bar, ready for a drink before they resumed their quest to save the Commonwealth, one settlement at a time.

Slowly Felicia collected her clothes from around the room, and a slow grin split her lips. Might be time to go get something different out of storage, she thought, if she wanted to wear something cut low enough to bare her neck. 

Her fingers drifted towards the still-raw burn, and as she traced the ragged circle of its edges, Felicia smiled. The Commonwealth might be a wasteland, but for her, it was a paradise. How could it be anything but, with Hancock at her side?

**Author's Note:**

> you can catch me at [my tumblr](http://lurks-beneath.me)!


End file.
